


bigger things

by graydar



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2009, Closeted Character, Friends to Lovers, M/M, References to Religion, Strangers to Friends, non-youtuber au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:02:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27698702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graydar/pseuds/graydar
Summary: When Dan moves in with his grandma, he's expected to go to church every Sunday. He doesn't believe in God, but then he meets Phil and finds something better than religion.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 20
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> quick note! a lot of this takes place in a church but religion is more of a background theme. this is a fic about falling in love, not about the rights and wrongs of christianity. thanks for reading!

There’s nothing worse than being woken from a dream you don’t expect. 

Dan is there, in the dark, someone’s arms around his waist, swaying with them, but here everything is heavier, like they’re underwater and Dan can’t quite get his eyes open. His eyelids turn into the heaviest part of his body, closing on their own accord every time he tries to pry them open. His fingers won’t come up to rub them like he wants, they’re stuck to the back of this person’s neck - the person Dan can’t see. It’s lovely and frustrating all at once. He’s never been held this close. 

There’s a beeping in the background, until it goes silent. And then there’s something yelled into his ear and another hand on his shoulder. 

“Daniel! You have to get up, love! We’re meant to be leaving in 10 minutes!” 

His eyes fly open. 

Back to the real world, his floral and gold room around him, his grandmother’s face leaning over him. She looks down at him like he’s coffined himself in bed and this is the viewing. He’s five years old again and this is home. 

“I swear all you do is sleep!” she says, posh accent a little too harsh on Dan’s early morning ears. “Now get dressed! Please wear your collared shirt like I asked!” 

And she’s gone, almost slamming the door until she stops it halfway to close it gently, almost like she’s making a point. 

Dan would like to go back to the dream, but Nana would literally kill him if he did. It’s Sunday. He’s always woken this way on Sundays. 

His plan has been to pretend he doesn’t know that it’s Sunday, and maybe, once, they’ll let him sleep through the service. He’s been trying this trick for 6 years now. It’s never worked. 

He doesn’t see any point in going if he doesn’t believe. He doesn’t see any point in arguing when they’re all he has. 

He goes for her. And in a year or two, he’ll be on his own and never have to go again, except maybe for a Christmas or Easter occasionally. 

It feels wrong. The whole thing. He feels wrong when he sits in the crowd of people, all smiling and happy to live in their ignorance. Dan doesn’t know how to pretend anymore. 

— 

He wears the collared shirt like she asks. It’s black and wrinkled and still feels rebellious because it’d been squashed in the bottom of his bag. It’s the least he can do when they all know he’s bound to fall asleep during the sermon. 

He straightens his hair in record time, the ends still curling where the heat didn’t catch, staring at himself in the old mirror propped on the empty dresser. His clothes are thrown about the floor, spilling out of his suitcase. 

“You can unpack, you know? The space is for you,” Nan says. 

He nods. “Yeah. I’m just procrastinating. I’ll get to it.” And it’s not completely a lie. He has been a bit lazy this past weekend, wallowing in the time that he has for it. He will unpack. Today. Or maybe the next day. Whenever it feels less like giving up. Like accepting whatever it is that Dan thinks still might change. 

It won’t. Inside, beneath it all, he knows it won’t. 

They pile into the car, Dan’s too long legs crammed into the backseat. The radio plays old hymns and everything feels like it’s covered in this homey vignette, like nothing is wrong and Dan isn’t pretending to fit here, that this is the way it’s supposed to be. When, really, it’s absolutely not. 

— 

He smiles at the people that greet his grandparents, polite boy that he is. Inside everything screams for him to run, that they don’t know what he’s hiding. He can’t stop chewing at the inside of his bottom lip, pulling at the insides of his jean pockets, his hands need something to do. There’s a lot of people but he’s tall enough to see past the crowd towards the doors inside the small sanctuary. 

He walks ahead of Nan, mumbling something about saving them seats in the usual section. 

— 

It’s always boring, but Dan likes listening to the man talk. 

It used to be more fun. With coloring books and other kids his age and the little biscuit snacks they’d get in paper cups. Sometimes they watched a film - there was supposed to be some kind of message or moral they all got from it, but all Dan remembers is how the cartoons were drawn a bit wonky, he never paid much attention to the story. 

He liked making Jesus’ face blue with the waxy, cheap crayons that always got broken. 

He takes a pen from the seat pocket in front of him and starts twisting the end off. 

Nan goes stiff beside him, moving her hand slowly to rest on Dan’s knee. He stops twisting. She gives it a little squeeze and puts her hand back on her own lap. He starts twisting again. 

She doesn’t like that he can’t sit still. She doesn’t like that he vandalizes church property. He accidentally drew all over the side of a pew when he was thirteen and she’d gone off on him about it. That was one of the last times he’d sat in one of these pews on a Sunday morning. Until this past month. 

The ink cartridge pops out of the pen, along with the spring inside. He catches it before it can get away. He sets the pieces on the seat next to him and starts with the rubber at the top. Take it apart, put it back together again. 

The whole room erupts in a chorus of ‘amens’ and some more dialogue that Nan reads off the pamphlet. Dan isn’t listening. 

He picks up the ink cartridge and draws a little ‘x’ on the meaty part of his palm. If he rotates his hand just slightly, it looks like a cross. A tattoo he’ll never get. The patrons of this place aren’t much for cross tattoos, or tattoos in general. But if he were to get one, he bets his Nan would rather it be a cross than the Muse logo. 

Nan notices the little drawing and bats his hand away from the pen. She hands him the pamphlet instead. 

So this is how he spends his Sundays now, drawing the letter “S” and little tornados all over the church pamphlet, all over the Bible verses and ads for the potluck and the copy of the Lord’s prayer and the prayer request box. He draws ugly faces and a giraffe with a really long neck. The giraffe looks more like a donkey. Mostly, it’s the swirls. 

Neverending little spirals that get darker as the ink bleeds into itself. Dan stares into them, like he’s hypnotizing himself. Maybe into the kind of person he’d rather be, the kind of person that could sit in a church service without dozing off, or the kind of person that knows how to stand up to their grandma, or the kind of person that doesn’t basically fail their uni applications, or the kind of person -- 

His 4am bedtime has caught up to him. He starts dozing when the guy on stage starts getting to the good part. He knows it’s the good part by the way his grandma leans forward in her seat and clasps her hands tightly in her lap. By the way the man’s voice starts getting louder and louder. 

The room feels suffocating all of a sudden. His bottom lip has made a permanent home in between his teeth and Dan can feel the ridges he’s bitten into the skin. He can’t sit still and there’s still another 45 minutes to go and literally all he wants to do his sleep. 

He shoves the pen and the pamphlet into the pocket of his trousers, stands up with a little hop and speedwalks out of the sanctuary, mumbling something to Nan about needing the toilet. 

\--

The air is clearer out here. Easier to breathe. He walks over to the windows and leans his hands up against the glass, feeling the cold from outside seep into him. He’s always too warm. Sweaty. Nan says that’s just what teenage boys do - sweat. 

This is better. It isn’t so dark and horrible. 

Sometimes his old house felt like that. His bedroom, the only place he could be alone, and yet he hated that too. The shouting, the noise, the way he didn’t fit. Never has. Yet, he feels that tugging in his gut that he gets when he’s been away from home too long. That missing feeling. 

There’s nothing to miss about it. Maybe his xbox and his dog. Maybe that. 

Sometimes it’s this floaty thing - a panic, that he’ll never be where he’s meant to. That none of this is real, it’s just a dream, and it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter. He’s someone else’s doll, being controlled and moved around and decided for by a giant in another universe. It’s this big, huge unsettling feeling that he’ll never feel at home again. He’ll never be okay, or happy, or any of the things he used to be. 

He used to be better, right? There’s a memory somewhere of that - he can’t quite reach it. 

\--

He left early in the morning, like he was going to work except he quit weeks ago and hadn’t told anyone yet. He packed two bags and stuffed his pillow under his arm. He grabbed a water bottle and some plain toast and thought about writing a note, and didn’t. 

He didn’t really think about it. He just left. 

He walked the 5 or so miles to Nan and Pop’s place. His old, white trainers going brown from all the puddles he trudged through, without even stopping to look down. He didn’t take the car because it isn’t his and his mum would need it back. He only really packed what is really, truly his. The stuff he bought with his own money. The stuff his dad wouldn’t claim to be his and threaten to report it stolen. 

He read about it online, the things they might do. 

He’s 18 years old and he’s still afraid of it. An 18 year old runaway, but all he could manage was a few miles away and his grandma’s house. He dreamed of London - or farther, buying a bus ticket and getting the fuck out of there. 

He still might do it, but he’ll make a plan first. He can’t live in Nan’s guest room for the rest of his gap year. How sad would that be? 

At least, it’s better than before. 

\--

He’s sat on a staircase near the end of a hallway, the most out of sight place he could find to have a meltdown. 

He’s not so jumpy anymore. It’s nice back here. He’s got the pamphlet spread out on his knee with the pen scratching into the paper. He can feel it through his jeans. He’s almost filled the whole page with sketchy drawings. He’ll start some kind of made up origami next. Anything to keep his hands moving. 

There’s a thud above him and he jumps, sends the pen flying out of his hand. He hears feet hurrying down and scoots to the side to let the person pass. The guy goes flying down the stairs, skipping steps as he goes and jumping past the last three, just barely missing Dan. Dan almost goes back to doodling, but --

He wouldn’t have been able to tell that the person is someone he actually knows and would rather not speak to by just the blur that speeds by, except the guy turns on his heel at the bottom of the stairs and looks up at Dan, flashing that big, toothy grin that Dan hates. His white shirt is far too white and tucked into pants that aren't wrinkled like Dan's. He's a poster boy. Clear skin and swoopy blond hair. 

The guy’s name is on the tip of Dan’s tongue. Along with a bad taste. 

“Daniel Howell?” 

Oh god, he speaks. 

“Dan, right? It’s Zach,” he points to himself, like it isn’t obvious. “We used to…” 

“I remember,” Dan mumbles, not letting him finish. 

“Mate, it’s been ages. How are you? What are you doing here?” He's far too enthusiastic for before 11 am. He always was the type, caffeinated and racing around like the world is ending and he's got tasks to do before it does. 

Dan shrugs, refuses to make direct eye contact with him. “Just here with my grandma.” 

“Oh, right. ‘Course.”

Zach shoves his hands into his pockets and stares up at Dan, expectant. Whatever he wants Dan isn’t about to give it to him. He’d repressed this guy from his memory until now. Would like to go back to pretending he doesn’t exist. They were primary school friends, but Zach's family has money for some - dumpling restaurant chain or something. He went to a private boarding school, or maybe it was just private - Dan doesn't, wouldn't, care either way. Zach probably would've turned on him in secondary school just like everyone else. Childhood friendships mean nothing to him now. 

Maybe he remembers Dan being happy and whole, too, expects him to be the same teddy-bear-looking, posh boy. Well, things change, Zachy. Dan isn't as loud, tries not to be, now. And Dan doesn't want to be his friend. 

“Anyway,” Zach prompts after a too long silence. “We broke a cable so I’ve gotta run to-- Anyway. We should catch up sometime?” 

Dan steels his gaze to the darkest, most intimidating, most unapproachable expression he knows. Then smiles, to really hit the nail on this guy’s head. “Sure, maybe.” 

Zach smiles, a real one. Maybe Dan isn’t as broody as he thinks he is. Zach shifts back and forth on his feet and looks far too dreamy up at Dan. He gives a little goofy wave and turns to run off down the hallway, head held high and shoulders back. Everything Dan isn't. 

Stupid.

Dan’s teeth dig deeper into his bottom lip. He suppresses the urge to bang his head against the wall and tears the pamphlet into pieces to scatter all over the carpet, making fists of his hands and spreading his fingers wide enough for the dry skin to crack. 

Fuck. There’s literally no where to escape it. 

\-- 

A few minutes pass while Dan tries to phase out the whole world. He’s dozing, long body contorted over the stairs. 

He tries to get the dream back from the morning, forcing his eyes closed to remember how it felt, what it looked like, what it meant. All he sees is the color changing bursts behind his eyelids. All he feels is the irregular beat of his heart, that won’t let him forget the anxiety that always lingers beneath the surface. He can’t sleep like this, can’t get back what he’d lost from the night before. 

It makes him want to cry a little. 

It's all out of place. It makes him want to scream. No one would hear him - he's that tree in the forest. No one's ever around to hear him when he falls. 

It’s another person that startles him this time. A big shoe coming down to stomp right next to his head, like it lost it's footing and teetered too close to the edge of a step. Dan’s spooked out of his fake sleep, heart hammering. 

“Fuck!” 

“Oops, oh my gosh! I was worried you were dead.” 

“What the fuck!”


	2. Chapter 2

They’re less than halfway through the service when Phil fu- screws it all up. His rolly chair is too slippery and spinny all over the carpet in the booth. He’s never learned to sit still anyway - and this whole thing is boring - everyone should have seen it coming, that his weird, buzzing energy would get the better of him. 

He’d spun out of control and right into one of the coils of wires near Zach’s board. He shouldn’t be trusted with spinny chairs. Or expensive XLR cables. 

They’ve got to the boring part of the morning, so it’s fine. Doesn’t make the whole sanctuary go dark or anything. But it does mean Zach’s looking at him with that disapproving face that Phil never knew someone younger than him could do. Someone he doesn’t particularly care for - could make him feel that ashamed. Like a little kid caught in the act, like when he tried to lie to his mum about brushing his teeth before bed and she saw right through him. Zach doesn’t like Phil’s games. Phil thinks maybe he’s just not a fun type of person. He likes making spreadsheets and memorizing light plots. That’s his - fun. 

He goes barreling down the stairs before Phil can stop him. Mumbling the whole way about if Gerry finds out they’re screwed and any other kid in Youth would take their places or they’d take the cost out of their paychecks and - “Phil, I’m saving up for uni! I need the bloody money!” - He’s told him this about a thousand times since their internships began. Phil knows. He doesn’t need a reminder. He’s got the guy’s life story basically memorized. How could he not when all he does is talk about it. 

He thinks he’s special, Phil guesses. Because not everyone goes to fancy rich boarding schools and gets scouted for rugby but then chooses the path of enlightenment instead - the path of art and religion. LOL. 

But when the priest's microphone goes really quiet and staticy a second after Zach takes off, Phil knows he’s screwed. He’s on the light board, has no idea where he’d start with the buttons and levers on the sound side. He knows up means loud and down means less loud but the booth hadn’t even been touched since Zach left… he’s got no clue why it’s wrong all of a sudden and no clue what to do. 

There’s a boy asleep on the stairs. A boy - Phil’s never… 

The closer he gets, the more he starts to wonder that maybe the boy is actually dead? No one would sleep in a position that uncomfortable, he must’ve fallen or fainted or - died! 

He’s halfway to kicking the guy to see if breathes or moves or starts doing a jig when - he jumps up! 

“Fuck!” 

Phil giggles, his inner 12 year old boy coming out. Which seems to be a common theme for the day. “Oops, oh my gosh! I thought you were dead!” 

“What the fuck!” 

“You’re not supposed to say that here?” Phil’s not entirely sure what the rules are, but it feels wrong, even in the back hallway of a church, to say a word like that. 

“I’m not dead. And I don’t care.” 

It’s been so long since Phil’s heard someone curse, he almost forgot it was a thing. This boy… He’s just surprising, is all. Has nothing to do with his very pretty face. 

“You’re laughing?” the boy asks. 

Phil nods, unapologetic. “You’re funny.” 

“All I said was fuck.” 

Phil suppresses another giggle. “Not many people say that around here.” 

The guy’s eyebrows go furrowy for a second, pulling his face together in this dark mess of lines. He looks tired and - down. All hunched together like he’s trying to take up the least amount of space possible. “Yeah, I’m not from here.” 

“You sound it.” 

“Sound what?” 

“Southern, I guess?” 

The guy nods. “Sure.” He leans his head back against the wall and sighs, long and full of something Phil wouldn’t know. 

“You alright? Sorry about, er, waking you up.” 

He keeps his head back and eyes closed when he nods, rocking his head back and forth before thunking it back against the wall. “Yep.” 

Phil hesitates. He’s not the kind of guy to be a hero, to offer an arm for an old lady crossing the street, or to save a stray dog wandering the neighborhood - except he might try, he would most definitely not succeed. He’s too awkward and gangly to be of any real help. He bumbles through life, trying his best not to get in people’s way. That’s all he’s got in him. 

But, looking at this boy in front of him, there’s something that tugs a little in his chest, something that tells him to stay. 

One of those fleeting moments you get that you know - you could do this, you could be someone to someone for even just a moment - but then life goes on without you and you’re running to catch up. Phil’s a little anxious to stay caught up. 

Not that he has anywhere to go. 

He sits down on a step, two above where the guy is leaned back. “You sure?” 

He opens his eyes, looks Phil up and down in a way that definitely makes Phil blush. Then he does a little half scoff. Phil can feel the heat burning in his cheeks. He needs to cough but that’s - no. 

He sends his pupils into the back of his head and then looks back to Phil. “If I let you pray for me, will you leave me alone?” 

Phil doesn’t even know what to say. He almost agrees. He’s never prayed - at least not out loud like that - and wouldn’t even know where to start, especially not in front of this stranger, or worse, for this stranger. 

He coughs, not able to hold it back any longer. Shifts around where he’s sitting and - holds out his hand in the most awkward gesture of help he’s ever seen. “I mean, is that what you - do you need…? I could try?” 

The guy chuckles, a little taken aback. “Er, no. That’s alright. I thought you were one of them.” 

Phil lifts an eyebrow, or both, because he can’t lift one at a time. 

“The-” he makes a show of clearing his throat, “congregation - the Believers..” he says, waving his hand in a flourish towards the sanctuary. 

Phil slumps forward, eyes wide. “Oh! Nah.. I just work here. Not that it’s.. It’s fine.” 

The guy nods. “Yeah.” His eyes go narrow like he doesn’t really believe what he’s said. Phil ignores it. 

He reaches his hand out, fake confidence propelling him forward. “I’m Phil.” 

“Dan,” Dan says, ignoring Phil’s hand. 

Phil shoves it towards him, more firm. 

“You really want me to shake it?” 

“Mhmm,” Phil hums. “It’s how men meet.” It’s a joke, but Dan seems to take it a different way than Phil really intended, squinting his eyes and giving the closest thing to a smile Phil’s seen from him. He counts it as a win. 

“Alright.” Dan takes Phil’s hand and shakes it all around, unable to really take it seriously. Which is fine, because Phil’s hands are always too shaky for a real firm grip. Dan’s fingers are long and warm around Phil’s clammy ones. They let go after a second of hand shaking shenanigans and Dan goes back to leaning on his wall. He reminds Phil of the boys from secondary school that’d lean against walls next to pretty girls, arm leaned above their heads to trap them. 

Two of Dan’s fingers fumble around with a piece of paper, a pamphlet that’s been ripped apart in between his left forefinger and thumb. He fidgets, spinning and twisting and folding it, like a tremor he can’t control. Phil thinks maybe they are a little alike. 

“Sorry,” Dan asks. “Were you going somewhere?” 

Shi- Shoot! The priest’s mic! 

Phil leaps up. “Oh! Yes! I have to.. Erm. Do you know anything about sound systems?” 

\--

It seems like Dan doesn’t really know anything about sound systems, but he joins Phil in the booth anyway. He says he knows a lot about computers, and would that help? It wouldn’t, but Phil doesn’t know how to say no. 

Dan presses a lot of buttons, and none of them make a difference to the crackling of the microphone. The priest has continued talking like nothing’s happening, ignoring the occasional screech of feedback and the collective gasp of the people in the audience. God doesn’t wait for technical difficulties, Phil guesses. 

Zach doesn’t come back for a long time. Phil’s not sure where the extra cables are - probably a closet somewhere that neither of them have a key to. Maybe Zach knows how to jimmy a lock, keeps a paperclip in his back pocket at all times just in case. He seems like the kind of guy that’d go to spy camp in the summer as a kid. Phil wasn’t cool enough for spy camp. 

Dan starts messing with wires and cables plugged into the sound system and fumbles with ports that Phil didn’t even know existed before Dan started moving things around. He holds his breath every time Dan twists a cable around, bracing for sparks to fly and all sound to disappear from the world. Dan has no caution whatsoever, he’s very into trying things out just to see what happens. 

Phil sits on his hands in his spinny chair and watches Dan dart around the booth. He’s got his bottom lip in between his teeth and his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. It’s a good change from before when he looked all dark and sad. He looks so much nicer like this, like he’s just happy to have a purpose. Zach would hate it. Someone coming to steal his job. 

The millionth cable Dan messes with seems to make some kind of difference. The sound goes a little clearer but is still far too quiet. Dan counts it as a win, and bounces down into Zach’s chair, spinning all the way around with his hands up in victory. 

“Wow. Zach would be so mad,” Phil says, closing the glass window so they aren’t heard by the whole congregation. 

“You know Zach?” 

Phil nods. “He does the sound stuff.” 

“Oh. Gotcha. He did say something about a broken cable when he came down.” 

“Yeah! Totally his fault! That guy… breaking stuff all the time. So… breaky.” 

Dan chuckles behind his hand, spinning around in his chair so Phil can’t see it. 

“Thanks for helping. I’m rubbish at all this.” 

“But it’s your job?” 

Phil shrugs. He’s not good at talking like this and Dan’s face makes it worse. “I’m just an intern. And I’m still terrible. The lights are easier.” 

“How old are you?”

“21.” 

“Jesus! Shit--” 

“You’re really bad at talking like a church person, aren’t you?” 

Dan grins, more smug than happy. “That’s cuz I’m not a church person. It’s kinda fun to get away with it. But fuck, mate. You don’t look 21. More like 19, maybe. You could buy me drinks in America.” 

“Huh, then how old are you?” 

He spins again, taking his feet off the ground so he keeps going and going, round and round. It makes Phil dizzy just watching. 

“Uhhhh, 18.” 

“Yeah, you look like a baby,” Phil blurts. It’s hard to look Dan straight in the eyes, because his big brown ones seem to bore holes into Phil’s self restraint. 

“Excuse me. Rude.” 

Phil’s stomach goes tight. “Sorry! I just meant--” He can’t help wanting this person to like him. Even though it’s all kinds of wrong. Even though he swore to himself that he wouldn’t do it again. Even though Dan isn’t tan and blonde. 

“Hey, it’s alright, Phil. I get it all the time. I look like I’m 12, I know.” 

Phil shakes his hand, scooting his chair forward to bump the wheels into Dan’s. He stops spinning, legs knocking into Phil’s once he comes around. “No, you don’t look 12. You look the good kind of young. You’re what celebrities want to look like when they do the needles and stuff.” 

Dan looks at him, searches for something Phil didn’t know was hidden. “I think that was a compliment?” 

Phil giggles, pushing against the bottom of his thighs with his numb fingers. “Yeah, it was meant to be.” 

Dan pulls the curled up bits of the end of his fringe straight, letting it fall across his face, hiding his eyes. There’s a spot on his chin that’s gone pink. “Thanks.” 

\--

Zach comes back a little while later and kicks Dan out of his chair. He also scolds Phil for closing the glass, which they aren’t supposed to do during service. He goes a little flustered at hearing that there had been technical difficulties without him and starts bustling around the booth with the franticness of a goose. 

That’s how Phil’s come to think of him in the past few months. 

Service is over by the time Zach gets everything set back in its place, still mumbling about Gerry and how they were given strict instructions. Phil sees Dan pinching his mouth so he won’t laugh. He’s gone to perch on a stool next to Phil’s part of the desk, fiddling with a rubber band and a sharpie. 

He threatens to snap it at Phil, but never follows through, stretching it as long as it can go before releasing it towards Zach instead. Phil holds up his hands in defense, begging Dan to give mercy on him and his beautiful face. 

“Hm, that’d be tragic, wouldn’t it?” And the band goes flying, bouncing off of Zach’s shoulder blade. 

Phil high fives him. 

“This is very unprofessional. You aren’t even supposed to be here!” 

“He’s my guest.” Phil says, clapping a hand on Dan’s shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Dan says, leaning into it. “I’m Phil’s guest.” 

“You two don’t even know each other.” There’s a bite in Zach’s voice that Phil doesn’t recognize as his usual patronizing sort of tone. He almost seems upset. If Phil were a better person, he’d ask him about it later. But he isn’t. 

Dan looks down at Phil, eyes soft and brown and - something else. “We do now.” 

Phil grins. 

\--

“Are you afraid of heights?” 

“Not usually. Like I can go on the London Eye without shitting my pants.” 

“Can I show you something?” 

“Oh.” Dan takes a step back. “My nan’s probably waiting for me.” He’s kept the rubber band around his wrist. Phil stole it for him when Zach wasn’t looking. There’s a stack of them in a drawer somewhere, no one will miss it. 

“Will you be here next week?” 

“Meaning… for the service?” 

Phil nods. “What else?” 

Dan pulls on the rubber band, snapping it onto the back of his hand. Phil wants to reach out and cover it with his own. Dan’s skin blossoms red where it’s been snapped. If it hurts, the pain doesn’t register on his face. 

He shrugs. “I don’t really like it here, if I’m honest.” 

“It’s nice in the booth,” Phil says. He wouldn’t have said that before, but it is nice when Dan’s there helping him bother Zach and spinning in the chair like it isn’t a weird thing to do. 

“Yeah.” 

“If you come back next week I can show you something really cool.” 

Dan stares down at his feet and Phil wants to beg for him to look up. He puts all his wanting in his eyes, because that will work for sure. But Dan won’t meet them. 

“I have to wake up early.” 

“Yeah. Not that early though.” 

“How cool is cool?” 

Phil bites at the inside of his cheek. He can’t play all his cards at once, but at this point he’d do anything to get Dan back here next Sunday. It would suck if this was all they got. He’d be seeing Dan in his dreams for months, wondering where he is and what would have happened if they’d had more time that one random Sunday in November. 

Phil is starved of a lot of things. No one should blame him for thinking it. 

“Pretty fucking cool, mate,” he says, finally. 

Dan looks up, eyes sparkling. It’s like they’ve got a little secret. And, yeah, it feels rebellious. Phil’s never felt so stupidly cool to break an arbitrary rule. 

“Fuck it. I’ll see you next week.” 

“Fuck yeah!” he says, too loudly. “Oops...fuck yeah!” he whispers. 

“Fucking hell,” Dan whispers, taking another step back down the stairs, grinning so wide, like his cheek muscles have minds of their own. 

“It’s your fucking fault.” 

“Fuck off! I’m leaving.” 

Phil waves goofily and watches Dan walk down the hallway until he’s out of sight. 

It’s been a month and half since Phil’s started this job and moved to this town. He hasn’t made a single friend since being here, if you don’t count Zach and he doesn’t. 

Dan looks friend shaped. And also, seems to be the coolest person Phil’s ever spoken to. 

He tries his best, with every shred of logic he has in his head, not to latch onto that like it means something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! 
> 
> catch me on my mess of a blog @graydar on tumblr


	3. Chapter 3

He beats Nan to the car. She probably got caught up talking with the church ladies. The ones that used to pinch Dan’s cheeks. The ones that still think he’s a “nice young boy.” Because Dan will pretend to be that for them for the rest of his life. 

He’d rather wait by the car, hands shoved in his pockets and leaning up against the side of it, like it’s an easy thing for him to stand there all alone in front of a building that makes him itch. It’s too cold out here and he hasn’t worn a proper jacket. He forgot to pack one when he left his parent’s house. He never remembers it being cold until it is again. He hates puffy jackets anyway, they make him look even more like a 12 year old boy. Better to be cold. Better to preserve the reputation that he’s too cool for it. 

That’s what he hopes he’s exuding now as he leans against the car. He’s too cool to walk with his family. Too cool to sit through the whole service without triggering some deep seated anxiety he didn’t know existed inside of him. Too cool to be a normal kid without all the - brain stuff. Whatever it is. Too cool. 

Too fucked up more like. 

People walk by him like he’s not even there. They’re all busy chatting about where to go for lunch and how they wish the sun would come out - it’s bloody Sunday after all. A kid that looks younger than him gives a weird glance Dan’s way as he passes with his family. 

Teens are the worst. Especially self righteous ones. Dan always feels like they can see through him. The too cool thing doesn’t work on them. 

Dan regrets the skinny jeans. Blames it all on the skinny jeans. He should’ve known better. 

He hopes Phil doesn’t come out and see him like that. 

He told Phil that his Nan was probably waiting for him, even though she always takes ages to leave. There’s always a group of ladies to talk to, or an event to volunteer for, or deacons to impress. Dan loves his Nan, but he’ll never stop thinking that this whole religion thing is mostly performative. Not that he’ll ever tell her that. 

He could have stayed with Phil. He could have gone with him to see whatever it is Phil’s desperate to show him. He regrets leaving so soon. Just a little bit. 

Phil was weird. Phil was nice just because, he thinks. Phil didn’t have an agenda, unlike Zach. Phil sat down next to him and asked if he was alright and Dan…. no one’s ever actually done that for him before. And Phil did it - without even knowing Dan’s name. 

He feels a tug in his gut thinking about it. About Phil. His haircut is exactly what Dan wants. Dan can’t help but be jealous of everything Phil is that Dan isn’t. He shouldn’t think about it so much - he’ll only dig a deeper hole. 

He sees Nan and Pop walking arm in arm toward the car a moment later. Dan forgets that married people do that sort of stuff, the domestic stuff. He forgets that love doesn’t die after a while. It did for his parents. 

It’s a sad thought. He tries to catch himself before it slips through, but it’s not unlike all the other things he’s been thinking the past few months. Maybe it’s just how he is now. Cynical. Half brain dead. Desaturated. 

Not that he claims to know anything about who he is. It’s the biggest mystery - only second to whether all this God stuff is actually real. His mind plays with both about the same amount. Which is the least amount possible on good days. 

Dan piles into the car before either of his grandparents can ask where he’s been. They probably won’t assume the worst, because they still think he’s a nice young man, too. They know he’s not crazy about the God stuff, but he never argues or outright denounces their beliefs. 

Sure, he sleeps too late and plays music too loud and slams doors without thinking, but they never hold it against him. They don’t mumble under their breath about him being a useless teenager. They don’t leave passive aggressive notes about picking up his clothes. They don’t roll their eyes at his music. 

It would be a nice change of pace if the pity underneath it all wasn’t so obvious. They feel bad for him, he guesses. Ever since he stumbled onto their front step that one morning, his shoes soaked and brown, his hair curling from the rain, they’ve been too careful with him, only complaining when he’s actually being a moody dick. Which he can be, and is often. 

They haven’t spoken much about… everything. The Situation. He’s just glad they let him stay. That’s all he needed. A place to be that isn’t suffocating. With people who actually seem to give a shit. 

“Where did you go off to?” Nan asks once they’re on the road back home, her eyes on him in the rearview. 

Dan folds his head further into the window, hoping she’ll think he’s asleep. 

“Daniel?” she prods.

He huffs a sigh, letting her know in the nicest way that he really doesn’t feel like talking, but answers anyway. “I sat upstairs for a bit,” he mumbles. 

“Oh. Okay,” and she faces back towards the road. 

She won’t ask him what’s wrong, because that’s not really how they do things in this family. He knows she’s keeping an eye on him, like she’ll be able to tell if he actually goes over the edge. An edge. Whatever edge he’s on. 

Not that there is an edge. He’s fine. He’s a teenager and a runaway and he - he just needs some space. She gets that. Most of the time. She gives it to him. 

She’s the only person Dan actually loves in the whole world. He doesn’t know why he’s pushing her away, but can’t help it. It’s an impulse he hasn’t figured out how to get rid of. Maybe it’s what his father kept saying, a phase. 

That would make it all easier. Hopefully, one day it will all go away and he’ll feel normal again. Not that he ever wants his father to be right about him. He doesn’t really believe it, but he hopes. He hopes that one day this will all be easier. Being, living, pretending. That’s what life has been for him for the past six years - a whole load of bullshit and pretending. 

Thankfully Nan doesn’t push the issue, so he closes his eyes, tips his head into the cool glass of the window, and tries to fall asleep. 

\-- 

This bedroom isn’t his anymore. It used to be fun with the bed covered in a multicolored duvet. It might’ve ducks or flamingos or Winnie the Pooh. He mostly remembers it was bright. There used to be toys, too. A toybox in the corner next to the window always overflowing with plastic gadgets that could light up and make sound. They’d fall over in the night and he’d jerk awake to the sound of a buzzing remote control car, convinced a ghost held the remote control under his bed. He lost his tamagotchi underneath the bed somewhere, too. Ghosts or sock goblins, one of the two. 

All his clothes were in the drawers. The marks on the walls were his from playing pretend and waving a foam sword around while imagining himself a pirate on a ship. 

It’s a strange thing, to see all his memories replaced by something sort of blank. A guest room. A room for people that aren’t him. A room with no memories. An ugly gold duvet that’s so floral it’s almost cliche. The marks have been painted over. The toys have been given away or hidden in a closet somewhere. His tamagotchi is dead, no doubt. 

This used to be home. He used to be happy here. 

He was never happy in the other house. The other house never felt like his. In one way or another, he was always trying to get back here. 

Nan knocks on the door before letting herself in. They had to learn that in the first few days. There’s no lock on this door and she kept barging in, giving Dan far too many heart attacks and only imagining what might have happened if he’d been.. in the middle of something. She’s trying to be better at it which is nice. She always waits an extra second after knocking before opening the door. 

“You alright, Danny?” She’s the only person that’s ever called him that sweetly. It’s her own personal nickname and she only uses it when it’s just the two of them. His heart goes tight at the sound of it. 

Dan looks up from the book he’d barely been paying attention to and nods, lips pressed tightly together. 

She doesn’t like that he spends so much time in here alone. He’s told her he’s an introvert and he likes it. She worries like the loneliness will give him a cold and finds all sorts of reasons to barge in on him.

Nan sits at the edge of the bed and pats his knee. She doesn’t like how bony he is either, how she can fit her fingers all the way around his wrists. He can tell she’s thinking it now by the way she spreads her fingers across his knee. 

“Your mum rang.” 

Oh. 

“She said you can come by and get the rest of your things, if you want.” 

Oh. She’s done fighting then, he guesses. 

The first few days Mum had been banging down Nan’s door, yelling at him through his bedroom door to stop acting like a child and come home. He refused to leave the room, refused to say a word even when Nan came in with a piece of toast and a cup of tea. 

Something snapped out of place in Dan that day. He’d stared at a spot in the wall for hours, blocking out everything, feeling like a statue. He made himself as still as possible, as blank and empty as he’s ever been, and waited for it all to calm down. Once it did calm down, his mum left and didn’t come back. Instead, she called the house everyday and asked if he was ready to come back home. 

Everyday he told Nan he wasn’t planning on coming back at all. He couldn’t live there anymore. 

He’s not sure whether his nan actually told his mum all of that. She never takes the calls when Dan’s around. 

Still, he hadn’t expected her to give up this easily. It’s only been about a week. He hasn’t been counting. 

He shakes his head. “I have what I need.” It’s mostly stubbornness at this point. He’d like his laptop and his xbox, but he’s intent on proving a point by going without them. 

The point being - he can do this on his own. He doesn’t need anyone to take care of him anymore. More like, he doesn’t need his parents. 

“You wouldn’t be more comfortable at home?” Nan asks, her eyes soft and careful on him. He hates it. Hates the caution and the quiet tone of her voice. He hates how it sounds so full of pity. Makes him feel like they think he’s losing his mind. Like he might shatter into pieces if she raised her voice. 

He looks at her, smiles like he isn’t bursting inside, and says, “I am home.” 

\--

He hasn’t heard anything from his dad since he left. He hasn’t called. He hasn’t come banging down the door like his mum. 

He expected a lot more. He expected a fight, or at least a phone call. He expected - some kind of resistance. He knew it wouldn’t be long until everything became about him and not Dan and how unhappy he is. That’s always the way it goes, it always, without a doubt, has to be about how Dan has made his life miserable. It’s always Dan’s fault. Even his own unhappiness. 

But no, there’s been nothing. 

He’s not sure how to feel about the silence. 

It’s probably better this way. 

\--

He considers unfriending every person he’s ever known on Facebook. Or deleting his account entirely. Anything to erase the first half of his life. 

He starts with the kids from secondary school. They’re the worst ones. 

It’s odd how a person can shove Dan in the hall everyday and sing jokes at his expense on the bus and still be his “friend” online. These people aren’t his friends. It’s all performative and fake and he’s been a part of it for too long. 

He doesn’t want it anymore. 

He wants a clean slate. He wants the way it used to be. He can’t stop thinking about primary school and the friends he used to have and the way he used to feel climbing trees to the very top. Growing up has truly ruined him. 

If he could go back in time, he would…. 

He doesn’t want to be known online by the people that made his life a living hell. He wants all of that gone, like maybe if they aren’t sharing pictures from Halloween parties he wasn’t invited to on his feed then maybe he’ll forget all the shit that happened. 

That part of his life can fade like memories that eventually go grey and hazy. Like it was never even real. Like the dreams he forgets are just dreams, and not actually real life memories. 

\--

He doesn’t delete the account entirely because there are some people that he actually likes even if they aren’t his friends in real life anymore. 

And there is a friend request from a guy named Phil sitting unopened in his inbox. There’s that, at least. 

Purging his old friends doesn’t mean he can’t make new ones. 

And also, Phil was nice. 

\--

Phil was a lot of things Dan forgets people can be. 

There are dark places in Dan’s heart that have grown over time because of people and things that have taken more than he had to give and left him empty. Sometimes Dan sits in the darkness and lets it wash over him until he forgets about the light. 

Something like that. 

He’s stupid and dramatic. Filled with teen angst. A cliche on top of a cliche. Topped with a fucking emo fringe. He should’ve just committed to the whole thing and gotten snakebites. He would’ve grown into them it turns out. 

But - Phil was something made of light. 

Dan accepts his friend request a few days later.

Phil almost immediately posts something to Dan’s page. To Dan’s absolute horror, it's a gif of a giraffe. A real life giraffe doing a little head swivel. And the text “hello new friend” blinks across the bottom every time his head swivels. 

This guy is an absolute dork. He’s mental and intent on ruining Dan’s social status and reputation apparently. Dan should be mad about it and will be, after he manages to wipe the stupid fucking grin off his face. 

It’s far too public, so Dan messages him privately. It feels like a brave thing to do, but he doesn’t let himself overthink it. He runs off pure adrenaline and boredom. This could be entertaining, if nothing else. 

It’s his move. 

DH: a giraffe? the fuck?

He tabs over to a Youtube video of some guys smashing watermelons while he waits for Phil’s reply. It comes much sooner than he expects. 

PL: Giraffes are kings of the wild. Don’t diss giraffes. 

DH: i’m not dissing them. 

DH: okay maybe i am a little bit

PL: You know what I would name a kid with your last name? 

DH: what? 

PL: Wolf. 

DH: … 

PL: Get it? Wolf Howell! Like howl, like awoooO!

It makes Dan smile. It’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. And he’s sat there. Smiling like an idiot at the screen. 

DH: yes. I get it phil. 

DH: i am rotfl-ing. literally. all over the fucking floor. 

PL: I went to college to be a comedian. Think it went well. 

DH: you think you’re that funny? 

PL: Not really. But the real thing is boring. 

DH: what’s the real thing? 

PL: Linguistics. 

DH: ...maybe just a little boring. 

PL: You wanna hear about voiced and unvoiced consonants? It’s not as good of an opening line. 

Dan doesn’t think too hard about that. He knows it will only get him in trouble. 

It goes on like that for a few hours. Phil responds quickly and isn’t afraid to send multiple messages in a row. He’s so eager. 

Dan is the opposite of eager. 

He overthinks every message he sends, overanalyzes his jokes to make sure they’re funny, keeps a minute in between every message he replies to to make himself seem like he has some kind of life outside of talking to Phil on Facebook. He doesn’t, but he doesn’t want Phil to know that. 

It’s been a really long time since Dan’s made a friend - a real one. He’s decided that’s what this is and that it’s only a matter of time before he fucks it all to hell. That’s what he does, the only thing his too long limbs are made for, crashing into things and getting in people’s way. A disaster in a bottle. 

PL: So… you are going to come back next Sunday, right? 

DH: it seems that way yes 

PL: Cool! 

PL: Yeah 

PL: No big deal. 

PL: You won’t be sorry tho 

Dan watches as each bubble appears on his phone one after the other. He feels the muscles in his cheeks tense up and squishes them back down into a frown. They kind of hurt. He’s so glad Phil can’t see him through the screen. 

DH: you promise? 

PL: Cross my heart. 

DH: see you on sunday

PL: XD

\--

Dan does go back to the church on Sunday, but he doesn’t really have a choice in it. It’s part of the agreement of living at Nan’s house. He wanted to argue, but he’s a little too scared of being kicked out or sent back to live with his parents, so he’s kept his rebellion to a minimum. His wrinkled Muse tshirt and black jeans should be enough to communicate his lack of conformity to the whole thing. 

Nan gives him a look when she sees what he’s wearing. He smiles at her like he doesn’t know the difference. 

\--

He escapes to the light and sound both as soon as he can get away from the ladies’ group. They’re all on about their granddaughters and how Dan’s grown so much. He puts on his best smile and nods to all of their inquiries about uni and work and his parents before making a run for it. He mumbles something about needing the toilet before the service starts and makes a dash towards the stairs. 

Phil doesn’t notice him at first. He’s sitting in his spinny chair hunched over the light board with the headset awkwardly squished on top of his alien head. 

It is a weird shaped head. Dan has no idea why he finds it so cool. 

He’s wearing glasses.

His headset makes him look like even more of a dork. Like a kid playing pretend in the cockpit of a plane. Like someone who takes gaming way too seriously to be cool about it. Dan edges into that territory sometimes. It’s not his fault Guild Wars is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. 

He’s also way too good at Mario Kart and DDR to act like he isn’t. He blames his little brother for his competitive spirit. He could’ve stayed an only child and avoided it all. 

Not that he hates his brother. He tries really hard not to, because neither of them asked for any of this. 

Phil presses a button on the board and some of the lights in the sanctuary shift. Another button and the lights on the stage go purpley blue. He wonders if Phil picked the color. 

He’s been standing in the doorway too long and Phil still hasn’t noticed him. There’s no one else in the booth and Dan feels a little bit like watching, not to be creepy but. It’s nice seeing Phil at work. It’s interesting. Dan’s nosey and a snoop and he likes to know the people he’s making friends with. 

Phil’s not gonna pick his nose and eat it if he knows Dan is watching. So Dan stays quiet a moment longer, just to see what he does. 

There’s no nose picking. Phil stays quietly focused on the board, only moving to brush the hair on his forehead to the side and back in place over and over again. Dan has the same tic, along with the Justin Bieber swoop that he can’t get rid of. It’s horrendously embarrassing when someone points it out. It makes him feel narcissistic. Better to seem like he doesn’t care what he looks like at all. 

The lines between narcissism and insecurity blur together too often and give Dan a headache when he thinks too hard about either. 

His quiet moment of observation is quickly interrupted by a grumbling behind him. He can tell who it is just by the sound of it. Dan’s favorite person. Great. 

“Excuse me, mate,” comes Zach’s voice over his shoulder. 

Phil whips around in his seat, making his headset knock sideways on his head and his glasses go crooked. His eyes are wide on Dan. Almost like he’s surprised to see him there at all. 

Dan gets that. As he’s known to disappoint people almost every chance he gets. 

Zach squeezes by him in the doorway before giving Dan a chance to move out of his way. Dan thinks he feels Zach’s hand brush against the small of his back as he goes, but he must’ve been imagining it. Zach isn’t like that. Dan would know. 

Dan presses himself into the doorframe as Zach goes, trying to keep as much distance from him as possible. Zach did say excuse me, so it’s Dan’s fault for not moving and Dan’s fault that they’re touching so much. Zach sends a weird look over his shoulder at Dan before taking his place in his seat. The look says too much and not enough. 

That’s all it takes for Dan to look for a place to run off to. He should have known. He definitely should have moved. Phil distracted him with his stupid headset being dumb and his eyes going all wide and surprised. 

Phil’s still looking at him, hasn’t moved from his spot in his chair even as Zach puts on his own headset and starts twisting knobs. Service is starting. Phil won’t stop staring at him. 

Dan clears his throat. He wants to run. There’s nowhere else to go other than back to the main floor with Nana. He’d rather hide in the bathroom the whole service. 

“Lester. We’re starting now,” Zach grumbles into the headset, loud enough for Dan to hear. 

Phil blinks fast and shakes his head to the side, snapping himself out of whatever trance he’d been stuck in. He gives Dan a crooked grin and raises his eyebrows. Dan’s not sure what it’s supposed to mean. He smiles back for half a second. He can see Zach scowling at him from the corner of his eye and Dan’s thrown back into cringing the moment from before. He should’ve fucking moved. 

It was Zach’s hand on his back but -- 

Phil straightens his headset and cocks his head towards the stool next to his part of the desk. Dan presses his lips together and nods. This quiet communication of nods and grins feels safe for some reason. Like their own secret language. They’ve only known each other for a week and they’re already creating little signals. Dan can’t shake the quiet excitement inside his stomach that this might be a real friend. For the first time. A good one. A person that likes him just as much. A person he doesn’t have to pretend for. Hopefully. 

Fuck Zach. He isn’t here for him. 

He sits on his little stool next to Phil and grabs at the chord connecting his headset to some kind of radio. He tugs it hard enough just to get Phil to look at him. When he does, Dan smiles far too wide and mouths fucking hell mate and rolls his eyes towards Zach. He watches Phil suppress a giggle behind his hand and make his eyes go in circles inside his head like it means anything to Dan. It sort of does, just because it’s Phil doing it. 

Phil nods to a switch and picks up Dan’s wrist carefully with just two fingers. He’s gentle with it, like he’s afraid of holding on too tightly. Dan wants to say that he won’t break, but he doesn’t want to draw attention to it. Phil points to the switch again and Dan flicks it. All the lights in the sanctuary go out and blue lights move across the stage, illuminating the grand piano on the corner of the stage. 

The lights in the booth dim as the music starts up and the lady that leads the hymns every Sunday walks on stage. Dan can see the whole sanctuary from here. He can probably point his grandma out if he looked hard enough. He surveys the tops of the congregation heads. They look so small. 

He wonders, if God is real and he is looking down at all the people in his church, if this is what he sees. The tops of their heads bowed down, some with their hands raised, swaying to the music. How small they are to him. 

How small Dan is. 

It’s a comforting thought - he’s just one of hundreds, more like thousands, millions if you count the whole world. He doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of it all. And he’s so grateful for it. Better to fade into the background, along with all his silly little problems. They’ll seem so much smaller when he’s older. That’s what Pop told him the night before over a cup of tea. 

“Don’t worry. You’ll see when you’re older. All of this will just be a small part of the story.” 

Dan can’t wait to get older.


	4. Chapter 4

Dan said he wasn’t afraid of heights, but he doesn’t look so sure about the ladder.

“Are you sure this thing is safe?”

“Positive,” Phil nods, climbing up the first rung and looking back down at Dan where he’s still stood on the floor. He’s got one hand on the ladder and the other braced on the wall. He doesn’t look sure about any of this. “Come on, mate.”

“Phil…”

Phil keeps climbing. It’s only a few steps into the catwalk from the floor of the balcony, but it’s enough for Phil to feel hesitant about standing straight up once he’s reached the ceiling. He’s tall and the air is already a bit thinner up here. He’s clumsy enough as it is, he’d rather not fall to his death while trying to impress Dan.

That’s what he’s doing, obviously. Hitting his head on one of the pipes or light hangs and passing out and tumbling 45 feet to the main floor would not be the way to do it.

He crawls onto the floor of the catwalk, staying on his knees and turning to peer down at the floor of the balcony. Dan still hasn’t moved.

“It’s really not bad,” Phil says. “I’m the clumsiest person in the world and I haven’t died yet.”

“You’re not taking me somewhere to kill me, right? You’re not secretly a serial killer that’s going to push me to my death?”

Phil snorts. “I work in a church, Dan.”

Dan nods, “Exactly,” and starts climbing.

Phil pulls him up next to him on the floor of the catwalk once he reaches the top rung of the ladder. One of his hands grips Dan’s upper arm and helps him make the awkward transition to sitting in the small space. Phil scoots back to give him some more space, his long legs getting tangled up in a cable wrapped around a pipe. He pretzels himself out of it and regains his composure, settling onto his knees facing Dan. Dan sits with his legs hanging down from where they’d come, propped up on the top rung of the ladder. He looks around the catwalk, a spacey look on his eyes. He doesn’t seem impressed yet, more like a little intrigued and a little nauseous.

“Phil,” Dan starts and he sounds a little breathless.

“Yes.”

“We’re in the ceiling,” he says, stating the obvious.

“It’s called the catwalk.”

“Like in fashion shows?”

“Well, it isn’t a runway. You’d probably die walking around up here in heels. Too many cables. I always trip on them.”

“What are we doing up here, Phil?”

From where they’re sat with their backs curved forward to avoid bonking their heads on the pipes above them, it’s really nothing special. It’s dark and a little spooky seeing all the lights where they’re usually hidden by the panels in the ceiling. Like the inside of a computer, an open faced sandwich, they’re sat among the insides - the guts - where all the beams and pipes and light clamps and speakers fit to make the tech work. It’s like being inside a magician’s hat.

Phil loves it up here.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?” Dan asks again. By the sound of it, this isn’t impressive enough for Dan to have woken up early and come to church to see.

Phil grins, cheeky. “Nope. I have a plan for you, Daniel.”

“Please don’t say it like that. It’s so creepy.”

“It’s your name, isn’t it?” Phil says, giggling, proud to have found a button to push all on his own.

“It’s Dan to you, Philip,” Dan retorts, popping the last ‘p’. Phil’s eyes dart down to peek at Dan’s mouth, watches a smile form there.

“Come on then, Dan.”

Phil hops to his feet, crouching down and turning to make his way towards the backstage part of the walk. He glances back before he makes it very far to make sure Dan is following behind him. He is, hands floating along the railing and feet stepping carefully around each coil of wire placed along the grated floor. He’s hesitant, but follows without question, his eyes trained on his own feet, glancing up to make sure Phil’s still in sight.

“I didn’t know all this was up here,” Dan murmurs.

Phil looks ahead and keeps walking. “Yeah, they updated some of the tech a few years ago when they brought Gerry on. Like they need it. We only use half of what the whole system’s really capable of. Kind of a waste of money.”

There’s an air duct that cuts across the walk right before the curtain, where Phil’s taking Dan. He hops over it with the most elegant form he can muster up in his gangly limbs. It’s more of a hop, push, and a stumble over to the other side. It’s definitely not impressive.

Dan has an equally awkward time with it, so Phil doesn’t hold it against himself. Once Dan has joined Phil on the other side, he looks back up at Phil, eyes still wide with curiosity and the hint of a smirk on his face. Phil hasn’t lost him yet.

He holds the curtain back for Dan to walk through, and that’s when he sees them.

The windows are behind wooden and sound proof panels that were built into the wall as a makeshift backdrop to the stage. Why anyone would want to hide the windows, Phil can’t begin to understand. The catwalk cuts across the back of them, giving access into the actual attic where the crisscrossing rafters and insulation are, making up the ceiling.

Phil crosses to his usual nook in the catwalk and sits with his legs dangling from the ledge. Dan is stood beside him, eyes fixed on the windows in front of them and the inner workings of the ceiling above them. His mouth is slightly parted and Phil has a hard time taking his eyes off of him. There’s a part of Dan that’s too beautiful for Phil not to notice. The soft lines of him, not yet ruined by the roughness of time. Young, lovely, untainted.

Late afternoon sun streams in through the windows, glowing in all the different colors of the stained glass. Dan looks like a painting, standing in the light.

“Sit down,” Phil says, patting the spot next to him. Dan doesn’t move for a second, like he hasn’t heard Phil at all. Then he shifts to face Phil, a smile plastered across his too pretty face. He’s glowing. A ring of light around him. He looks like a holy thing.

“I remember these,” he says, eyes darting back to gaze at the windows.

“You’ve seen them before?” Phil asks, stomach dropping a little. He thought this would be a nice surprise, a little secret getaway where Phil could pull all of Dan’s secrets out of him.

Dan nods, sitting down next to Phil. He crosses his legs under him and their knees touch for a second before Dan scoots to the side, widening the gap between them. Phil’s not sure he noticed, or if he’s just trying to give Phil more personal space. There isn’t much room up here on the narrow walk to begin with. They’re already so close.

“They weren’t always hidden?” Phil asks.

Dan shakes his head, eyes fixed above them on the windows. “When I was a kid, my grandma dragged me here every week. It was more fun because you get biscuits in Sunday school, but anyway. I don’t remember much about it, but I do remember these.”

Phil grips the railing in front of him, feeling a bit dizzy from the thin air. Or maybe it's staring at Dan that’s done it to him. Both make him feel like he needs to catch his breath.

Fucking hell, Phil.

He blinks fast and his vision clears. “They built these panels at some point, I’m guessing. So the windows have been hidden for a while. It’s like this modernization craze. Gerry rants about mega churches a lot, that they’re trying to make sanctuaries look more industrial and contemporary. I think it’s a shame. They’re beautiful.”

Dan nods. He’s barely looked at Phil since they’ve sat down. All the nervous energy from before seems to have melted away from his body. He looks the most relaxed that Phil’s seen him, hands folded in his lap and head tilted back to look at the grand piece in front of them.

The windows take up the entire wall, from the floor below them and up to the ceiling where they can’t even see. All different pieces of colored glass coming together to create a picture. It’s an angel, wings golden and spread out, catching the light of a star behind her, bursting with blue, red, and yellow. From where they’re sat, they’re close enough, they could reach out and touch the window if they wanted to. Phil could lean across the rail and reach his arm and touch the top of the angel’s head, right where the star begins.

“I guess it’s not as good of a surprise if you’ve already seen them,” Phil says.

Dan shakes his head. “No. I love this, Phil.” He keeps his eyes fixed ahead of him, so he doesn’t see Phil blush when he says it.

\--

“You know those memories that feel like dreams?” Dan asks all of a sudden. A comfortable silence had broken over them in the time between, and Phil had barely even noticed that no one was talking. He’s never known a silence that didn’t feel awkward and uncomfortable, until now.

“Yeah. Sure. Kind of?”

Dan chuckles and glances back at Phil. His eyes look golden. “Like, I’ll ask my mum about the time we went on a boat on Christmas day, but we never went on a boat on Christmas day, and yet I have this memory of it. So it must’ve been a dream, right? It goes the other way round, too. I have memories that feel so distant and faded that I can’t remember if they’re actually memories, or if they might have actually been dreams.”

“Oh. Yeah, I have some of those. I have a really good memory for some reason. But I just remember the weird stuff. Like, I remember my parents would blindfold me and feed me the foods I didn’t like. And then I got to watch the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.”

Dan laughs at that, the noise bursting out of him with an obnoxious honk. “You sure that wasn’t a dream, mate?”

Phil feels himself blush, embarrassed. “Yeah. You can ask my mum if you don’t believe me.”

Dan shakes his head, bringing his hands up to fidget with his fringe as he does it. “No, no. I’ll take your word for it.”

“What about it? The memories?”

He fidgets with his fringe a little longer, and once it’s back to where he wants it - although, it looks pretty much the same to Phil - he glances back up at the window. “The memory I have of this, it feels like a dream. All hazy. Like I made it up. I think I’d convinced myself it wasn’t real after all. But it’s weird. Knowing now, that it was real. It wasn’t a dream. I wasn’t just deluding myself.”

Dan stares at the window. Phil stares at Dan. He’s a bit more interesting. And real. Too real for Phil to not pay attention to.

He tries not to hate himself for it. He tries not to shove the floaty feeling in his chest down and down and down until it ceases to exist. He bites at his bottom lip and shoves his hands underneath his thighs. If he didn’t, he might reach out and touch.

“Why did you come back?” Phil asks.

Dan lets out a long sigh and Phil wonders if he’s hit on something sore. “I’m living at my grandma’s right now. Part of that means going to church.” It’s not quite an answer and Phil has to hold himself back from pressing Dan for more. Phil is nosey and a gossip and caught on the mystery of Dan, however stupid it might sound. He isn’t something for Phil to figure out - he’s never been good at maths.

Phil wants to know Dan. For whatever reason, his pretty face or his stupid mouth, Phil can’t help but try to know him.

Dan won’t meet his eyes, his brows furrowing back in the anxious way they’ve been each time Phil’s seen him. He watches as Dan goes tense, swallowing thickly.

_Well, I’m glad you’re here._

Dan looks back at him. His cheeks have gone pink and the spot on his chin is red and splotchy. “Thanks, Phil.”

Phil smiles. “For what?”

“You were right. This was worth getting up at buttfuck o’clock.”

Phil gaps, slapping a hand over his mouth. “Dan!”

Dan smirks. “What? Was it something I said?”

“Careful, there might be an echo up here. The deacons might hear you.”

“I think the deacons need to get laid.”

“Don’t you think they have?”

“I dunno. Are deacons the ones that marry Jesus?”

“I don’t know. I’m not the kid that grew up in church.”

Dan smirks and braces himself against the railing. He opens his mouth and Phil immediately regrets all of his decisions.

“Penis,” Dan whispers.

“No!” Phil shrieks.

Dan shrugs. “Penis!” he says, a touch above a whisper.

“You’re very dramatic, you know,” Phil says, barely holding back giggles. He always sounds like he’s hyperventilating when he tries not to laugh. Neither is particularly attractive.

Dan is a lot of things that Phil wishes he could be. Brash, bold, unafraid. Impulsive and funny. Handsome and…

Dan’s the kind of thing that would show up in Phi’s dreams.

He looks around for something to smack himself with. If Dan doesn’t already think he’s crazy…

Dan’s smile falls. “Some people call it being dramatic, other people just call it obnoxious. Sorry, I’ll stop.”

Phil frowns, confused at the sudden change in Dan. He shakes his head. “No! Don’t apologize. It’s- it’s nice. It’s funny. I don’t know. I like it.”

Saying that is almost like shouting “fuck” in the middle of the church. It feels like breaking a rule. Phil’s not sure which rule, or if it even applies to him. Still, this whole thing feels surrounded by risk. Phil’s not one to usually take risks. He’s a quiet follower. He doesn’t take big leaps or make bets he’s likely to lose.

He waits, quiet, for Dan to respond. He’s harder to read, face shifting constantly between smiles and frowns and something in between. Like he’s not quite sure how to react at all.

Dan’s face settles on a soft smile. His cheeks are still tinted pink and his eyes have softened, landing on Phil - or just past him. “Well, thanks. That’s good, I suppose.”

“What is?” Phil presses.

The corner of his mouth quirks into a less secretive grin. It’s hidden there, just for Phil to see. “Good that you like it. It’d be sort of shit if you hated me and dragged me all the way up here just to tell me.”

Phil shrugs. Something has shifted and it all feels a bit more awkward now. If Phil’s hands weren’t shoved under his legs, he’d be wondering what to do with them. He’d rather not freak Dan out with his weird hand postures today.

“‘Course I don’t hate you.”

Dan huffs. “You’d be surprised. People find all sorts of reasons to.”

Phil reaches one hand out and pokes Dan’s cheek. “Wankers.”

And Dan smiles and something in Phil’s chest breaks.

\--

Phil’s apartment is a one room studio situated above Linda’s garage. Linda, a single lady from the church with an affinity for doilies, agreed to rent to Phil for the few months that he would be interning at the church, facilitated through Gerry. Phil was grateful that he didn’t have to sift through listings in a city that was very much a temporary home for him. Thankfully there was Linda and the newly renovated room above her garage. It has a kitchenette and a sofa bed and a tv and wifi, everything Phil would need for the months that he would be staying.

The only downside to Linda’s garage apartment is the lack of a bathroom, but Phil hasn’t minded the awkward in and out of using the guest bathroom in the main house. He likes bumping into Linda every morning. She offers him a cup of tea after his shower and asks about his plan for the day. It’s almost like having a mum for a roommate.

And the one rule Linda gave him - _no girls_ \- hadn’t bothered Phil in the slightest.

He hadn’t really been prepared for guests. Phil darts around, picking up dirty clothes thrown about the room and gathering up dirty dishes to place in the sink to wash later. Dan stands in the doorway, looking on and shoving his hands in his pockets like he’s not sure what to do with himself in Phil’s space.

“Sorry about the mess,” Phil mumbles, shoving blankets under his makeshift bed and pulling it back into its sofa position.

Dan shrugs. “S’alright. This is really cool, Phil. I wish I had my own place.”

“Well, it isn’t technically mine. It’s technically Linda’s.”

“Does Linda bother you much?”

“No, she leaves me alone almost all of the time. But, I don’t mind her. She makes good pancakes.”

Dan sits on the edge of the sofa, hands braced at the edge. “Did you bring all those?” he asks, pointing at the case of DVDs under the tv across from them.

Phil sits down beside him, leaving an extra bit of space between them. They’d been sat so close all afternoon, the change in space feels wrong.

“Some of them. The Buffy boxset is mine.”

Dan smirks. “Buffy? As in the vampire slayer?”

“Yes, and do not disrespect her. She’s an icon. The whole show is a masterpiece.”

“You have a thing for vampires, Phil?”

Phil feels the blush creeping up his neck again. Dan says these things and he can’t- he doesn’t- it’s horrible. “It’s just good tv.”

“I’ve never seen it.”

“What? Really?”

“Nope. Might’ve been a bit before my time.”

Phil stands and makes his way over to the shelf. He looks at Dan, eyes wide.

“Oh no, Phil. I have a horrible feeling you’re going to make me watch your vampire show. Please tell me that’s not why you dragged me here.”

Phil presses his lips together and clasps his hands behind his back as he inches closer to the stack of DVDs. “Hmm, no. I dragged you here because I have cold pizza and you said you were hungry, but while we’re here…”

Dan raises an eyebrow. Phil’s entirely too impressed that he’s able to do it one at a time. He can probably wink as well, the bastard. “I was promised pizza? I see no pizza, Phil.”

Phil huffs and rolls his eyes, abandoning the Buffy boxset and trudging to the kitchenette, stomping his feet like a little kid. He glances back at Dan and sees the sparkle in his eye has returned. The one from before when he’d whispered “penis” while sitting in the rafters in the middle of the church. Cheeky boy.

\--

They eat pizza and play video games because Phil brought his playstation as well and Dan’s been going through withdrawal. He doesn’t tell Phil why he hasn’t been able to play and Phil assumes he’s been grounded or something. It’s added to the list along with all the other things Dan mentions but doesn’t explain. Like why he’s living with his grandmother right now.

Phil never asks for details. He’s a bit afraid of saying the wrong thing and fucking up whatever sort of friendship they’ve began. Phil’s been too lonely in this little apartment, even with Linda around and Gerry and Zach at work. He could do without Zach, honestly. But Dan is exactly what Phil had been missing while living in Wokingham these past few months, and he doesn’t want to do something as daft as lose him the first day he’s really got him.

\--

They play for hours and eventually Phil convinces Dan to let him put on the first episode of Buffy. They make popcorn and Dan pulls out a blanket from under the sofa, complaining about the cold. He curls up, scooting closer to Phil, and he’s sure it’s just for warmth and nothing else. Their heads lean back against the sofa and the wall, tilted towards each other. Dan’s left hand rests in between them, loosely gripping the blanket. Phil stares at it for the first twenty minutes of the episode, unable to look away. He grips the bowl of popcorn like a lifeline.

Phil has to restrain himself from quoting the whole first episode and breaks every so often on a line he really loves. He keeps glancing at Dan, gauging his reaction and to make sure he’s paying attention. Sometimes, when he looks, Dan is looking back at him, eyes fixed on Phil’s.

His smile falters and he feels like he’s been caught in something - in looking. In seeing whatever it is Dan’s trying to hide.

“What?” Phil asks.

The sun set a while ago and Phil hasn’t moved to turn on a lamp. They’re sat in the dark, the only light coming from the tv. It plays across Dan’s face, going light and dark as the scenes change. It’s so dark Dan's eyes almost look black. There are slight circles under his eyes that Phil hadn't noticed before. He looks tired. Phil wonders if he'll fall asleep on Linda's sofa bed with him. He wonders if that's allowed. 

Dan shakes his head. “I don’t know. I like it.” He’s smiling. Not like he's trying to, just because he's happy and it's easy. There's a difference, Phil's noticed. 

“It’s a good show.”

“Yeah.” Dan pauses, pulling his knees up to his chest, guarding himself. “And I like that you like it.”

In another world, this is where Phil would lean in. If this were a date and Dan were a cute guy he’d met at the shop or at a club or in a class, he’d lean in and he wouldn’t be afraid. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! 
> 
> catch me on my mess of a blog @graydar on tumblr


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